


In Between

by Consulted_moriarty



Category: The Martian (2015), The Martian - Andy Weir
Genre: Stranded, WIP, no ships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-26
Updated: 2015-10-26
Packaged: 2018-04-28 05:14:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5079253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Consulted_moriarty/pseuds/Consulted_moriarty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are thoughts Mark Watney doesn’t write down and there are words he doesn’t say for the camera. There are moments when he wakes up, fingers tangled in his blanket as if that’ll ground him for when the tarp rips off from the hole where the airlock used to be. There are seconds of doubt and breaths of weakness and these are not shown for the world and the viewers.</p><p>But for us, here, Mark Watney is honest. And he is scared.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s note: I am not Andy Weir and the original work is unfortunately not mine to claim. This is my own interpretation and I will pull tidbits from both the novel and the recently released movie. Enjoy, kudos are loved and feedback is appreciated. There will be no shipping of any sort, as this is clearly Mark’s time alone on Mars.

> [Draft; Sol Log 18]

“I’m very doped up on painkillers right now and I’ve got to thinking.” He’s not looking at the camera. His hands are tightly gripping the blanket around his shoulders and his abdomen twitches in response to all the recent trauma. “I mean...it’s pretty safe to conclude I’m alone. MAV is gone. No one has called out my name and there’s no evidence of...anything. But...everyone’s stuff is still here.” He’s looking over his shoulder at the clutter in the Hab, his eyes distant and drifting and his words slurring. “I should sleep on it, approach this in the morning.” He rubs his eyes before checking the clock before him, frowning afterwards. “Though it is almost seven anyways. Scratch that plan and I’m left with...nothing. No one.” There’s almost a smile, but it’s very shortlived. “I am stranded on Mars.”

> [Draft; Sol Log 18-- END]

_There’s notes, just brief scribbles of thoughts and ideas (or lack thereof) left on the table near a cold cup of coffee. Off to one wall of the Hab, a man is sleeping restlessly. He turns and shifts and groans when the staples pull over his wound. He won’t sleep much longer._

> [Note 001]

Congrats, you’re awake. I’ve got bad news for you. From one Mark to the same Mark, your crew is gone. No, they aren’t out doing EVAs while you’re sleeping in. They’re on Hermes and headed back to Earth. Yes, that coffee is cold. Good job, make yourself a new cup.

Checklist:  
Staples  
Hab integrity  
Food supply

What the fuck do we do?

> [Note 001-- END]

_He's got a nasty feeling at the back of his throat. It's like the ache before someone cries, when they're desperate to keep composed but their eyes well and their chest is being squeezed tight. He's crippling in on himself in the corner of the Hab, eyes hastily on the oxygenator. It's running smoothly and he knows it will continue doing so for some time as he hasn't even reached the end of the mission's time limit on Mars. But what about afterwards? And there's not enough food, not really. He should already consider rationing, though is it worth it?_

"I stand amid the roar  
Of a surf-tormented shore,  
And I hold within my hand...  
Grains of the golden sand-"

_Time to get to work, he thinks. He can mourn later. He can scream his misery to the ears of parents that will never hear him and anguish to the bosses who will never fire him. But, for now, he's got a mission. And he's in charge. Hey, he thinks, I like the sound of that._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mark quotes A Dream Within A Dream by Edgar Allan Poe.


	2. Ignition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is going to be based on the explosion that takes place in the book. Mark Watney’s Hab has an abundance of hydrogen that he needs to burn off with short bursts of oxygen and he forgets to account for the oxygen leaking from his mask, this causes the explosion in the Hab.

_In the initial blast, the man is thrown across the Hab like a discarded rag doll. The oxygen mask rips from his face, leaving him inhaling sheer nitrogen. His ears are ringing and the Hab’s interior looks like a tornado ripped through it. Lights are flashing like a haunted house production and the man scrambles to his feet before grabbing at his head._

_He’s horrified, but unable to process it in the shock of the moment. At first, he thinks, “this is bad.” And then he thinks, “I’m an idiot.”_  
_He concludes with, “I’m going to die.”_

_And then he gets to work so he might survive._

 

 

> [Draft; Sol Log 40 (2)]

 

“I guess I lucked out.” He repeats this thought aloud, his eyes set aside from the camera’s lenses. He appears...distracted. Or very, very focused. His eyebrows are furrowed and his jaw clenches before relaxing multiple times over. Then he looks back to the camera, face set. “I’m going to bed.” The footage ends with him leaning forward, a red hand moving out to shut off the camera. There’s a brief glimpse, one that can be seen from between his fingers. The man behind the hand, the one with moist eyes, is still very alive and very alone.

 

 

> [Draft; Sol Log 40 (2)-- END]

 

_He spends another night in the rover, joking to himself that he doesn’t want to stay in a Hab that has a history of wanting to explode on him. But he’s in that rover because he’s paranoid and he’s growing more anxious as the Sols crawl on. His humanity, his sanity, were left on Sol 18 when his crew took it back home with him. He treats himself to a proper meal, trying to focus on a night of relaxation. He’s got a few facial burns to tend to and it wouldn’t hurt to trim his hair. But, for now, he’s thinking. He allows himself to scribble down the notes before finally turning over to a deep slumber._

 

 

> [Note 014]

 

I will need to really start contemplating contact back home. I have no idea how to do this. If they are curious enough to send a satellite over to look for my body, I could leave a big note in the sand. Then again, if they send a satellite over, they might note that everything around the Hab has been moved since Sol 18. But none of that matters because they won’t be able to reply.

 

None of it matters, really. I’m fighting because I’m stubborn.

 

 

> [Note 014-- END]

 


End file.
